


Sam and Dean vs. The Weeping Angels

by mooses_unicorn



Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural
Genre: Dean becomes a whovian, Gen, Weeping Angels - Freeform, crossover fic, fandom references, fandom references everywhere!, sam and dean go to a sci fi convention, spn universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooses_unicorn/pseuds/mooses_unicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people start to go missing in a town where there just happens to be a sci-fi convention, Sam and Dean go to investigate. With a little help from an old "friend", they discover that the Weeping Angels are to blame...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did that statue just move?

“Dude, look at all these nerds!” said Dean as he swung the Impala onto Main Street.

Sam was staring out the window, watching a guy in a tweed jacket and fez taking a picture of some Storm Troopers. 

“Why did we have to take a case in a town where there’s a sci-fi convention?” Dean continued.

“Because six people have gone missing in the last 48 hours,” replied Sam. “Anyway, I thought you’d be more into it; you make Star Trek references often enough.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to put on pointy ears and walk around in a red shirt all day.”

“Spock wore blue,” muttered Sam under his breath. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam smirked. He was going to have a lot of fun teasing his brother on this job.

Dean rolled the Impala to a stop alongside the curb outside the local P.D. and cut the engine. The brothers got out and Dean walked round to the trunk, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of his Fed suit, as Sam admired the architectural church across the street. His eye was drawn to an angel statue on a plinth just above the arch-shaped door. The angel had its face in its hands, as if it were lamenting some great loss. Sam’s eyes travelled up the length of the impressive spire and then back down to the angel statue, but something was wrong: the angel no longer had its head in his hands. In fact, it was looking directly at Sam, its hands now by its sides.

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed, turning to his brother who was now making his way to where Sam stood.

“What?” Dean asked, looking concerned.

“I swear that statue just moved!”

“What statue?”

“The angel, above the church door. One second it had its head in its hands, the next it was looking   
right at me.”

“Uh, what angel?” Dean asked, now looking really worried. “There’s just an empty plinth.”

“That one, right th–“ Sam started angrily, wheeling his brother round to look at it, but Dean was right, there was nothing more than an empty plinth. The statue had gone.

“Dude, seriously, are you ok?” asked Dean, turning back to face Sam.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sam replied irritably. He knew what he’d seen. “But I swear, it was there and now it’s not.”

“Uhuh, okaaay,” Dean said, still eyeing his brother worriedly. “Let’s go see what the local cops have got on the disappearances so far… and you can ask if any of them were statues,” he added with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes as his brother started towards the police station. He knew what he’d seen and he was pretty sure he didn’t hallucinate it. It’d been over two years since he’d last had a vision of Lucifer and this felt different, much more like reality. He mentally shrugged and set off following Dean into the police station, putting the incident down to lack of sleep and too much caffeine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

“Hi there,” said Dean, flashing his best smile at the pretty secretary. “I’m Agent Bloom, this is Agent Lanier.” They both flashed their fake FBI badges. “We’re investigating the recent disappearances in town, could we please speak to whoever’s in charge here?”

“Sure,” the secretary replied, returning Dean’s smile flirtatiously. “Detective Shaw is just finishing up an interview, he’ll be out in a minute.”

“Great, thanks,” said Sam.

“So…” Dean started to address the secretary, but at that moment a man in cop-uniform walked through the doors into the reception area.

“Agents,” he said extending his hand. “I’m Detective Shaw, how can I help you?”

“Agent Bloom.”

“Agent Lanier,” the boys said respectively as they each shook the Detective’s hand.

“We’re looking into the recent disappearances in town.” Sam said. “Mind sharing what you’ve got so far with us?” 

“That was quick,” the Detective replied. “The first call only came in 48 hours ago.”

“We’d just wrapped up a case couple of towns over, thought we’d come lend a hand.” Dean lied smoothly.

“I see. Well, we don’t really have much to go on so far. No connections between the victims that I can see yet: all taken from different parts of town, none of them knew each other as far as I know, no family or friends in common. It just seems random. And the crime scenes are completely clean – no signs of a struggle, no prints, just… nothing.”

“Right, but we’d appreciate it anyway if you could give us copies of the vic’s files and case reports,”   
said Sam.

“Sure thing, but I don’t think you’ll get much out of them. As I said, there’s no obvious connections.” 

The Detective turned to the secretary, “Suzie, could you go get the files on Mr. Jenkins and the others please?”

Suzie got up and disappeared through the same door Detective Shaw had come through, but not before flashing a smile over her shoulder at Dean.

“You know,” Detective Shaw began in a low voice. “I’m glad you’re here. This is a small-town, we’re not equipped to deal with this kind of thing. People are already panicking and I’ve got nothing to go on.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sam, “We’ll find whoever’s taken them.”

By now Suzie had returned with the files, she handed them to Dean with another smile, and to Sam’s amusement he spotted a hastily scribbled cell phone number poking out of the top dossier.

“Thanks,” said Dean. “We’ll let you know if we get any leads.”

“Call us if you hear anything more,” said Sam, handing over a fake business card with their numbers on it.

And with that the brothers turned to the door and left to find a motel.

**  
A couple of hours later Sam was sat in the motel room, with Detective Shaw’s case files spread over the table, searching for any possible link between the victims; Dean had gone out to get food. As there was nothing in the files to give him a clue, Sam decided to mark out where the victims had been taken on a large street map to see if there was a link geographically. He was in the process of doing this when he heard the growl of the Impala outside, shortly followed by Dean entering the motel room, laden with greasy bags of take-out.

“Hey, Sammy. How’s the research going?” Dean asked, dropping onto one of the beds and unwrapping a burger from its Biggerson’s wrapper.

“Nothing so far,” Sam replied distractedly as he continued to mark red ‘X’s on the map. “Although I think I might be onto something with the locations… give me a second.”

“Okay.” Dean started to go to town on his burger.

“Huh!” said Sam, clearly surprised.

“What?” Dean asked, getting up to go look at the map over Sam’s shoulder.

“Remember the disappearing statue thing this morning? There might be something to it after all. Look.” Sam pointed to the centre of the map.

“Seriously?” said Dean looking at Sam’s red ‘X’s, which formed an almost perfect circle. Right in the middle of that circle was the church they’d parked outside that morning. “So…. what? Your disappearing statue’s Suspect-Number-One now?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not the craziest thing we’ve seen. I’ll have a look online, see if anything comes up in the lore.”

Dean returned to his bed and picked up his half-eaten burger, before removing the other one from the bag and tossing it to Sam. Sam set it down on the table and pulled his laptop out of his bag.

“Dude, are you even gonna eat that?” Dean asked indignantly.  
But he got no answer, as Sam was already engrossed in his online search.

**

“For fuck’s sake,” exclaimed Sam in frustration “I give up!” He sat back in his chair and pushed the laptop away from him.

“What?” asked Dean from the bed, where he was reclining and flicking through the police reports.

“I’ve been at it for an hour now, and every time I search anything to do with statues moving, disappearing or making someone disappear I just get all these stupid Doctor Who fan-sites.”

“And no actual lore?”

“Nope. None.”

“Sorry, Sammy. Guess that lead’s a bust. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless, it IS something to do with those angel statue things? Not like literally them, but I dunno a trickster or god or something manipulating reality, bringing things from a tv show to life?”

“Actually, that does sound like a Trickster-ish M.O. if you think about it,” said Sam, suddenly pensive. 

“I mean, you’ve gotta whole town full of sci-fi fans, and from what I’ve read these ‘Weeping Angels’ are widely considered to be pretty damn scary, so if you were a Trickster in this town looking to mess with people, what would you do?”

“Huh, not a bad theory,” replied Dean. “I’ll roll with it… okay so now what?”

“I guess we go scope out the convention.”

“Alright!” exclaimed Dean excitedly.

“What happened to you not being into this?” Sam enquired, his eye-brows drawing together sceptically.

“That was before I found out Zoe Saldana’s gonna be there. She’s a babe!”

“Whatever,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes and shutting his laptop.

Dean was already halfway out the door, “Beam me up, Sammy!”

**  
Having used their FBI badges to get in – tickets were long sold out – Sam and Dean stared around the crowded exhibition room, scanning booth-upon-booth of merchandise and a sea of costume-wearing people, desperately looking for anything that might help their investigation.

“Hey! Watch it!” said Dean heatedly, as someone bumped into him. He looked over his shoulder to see a guy dressed as a Wookie continue to shoulder his way through the crowd. Well, he assumed it was a guy as the Wookie was taller than Sam, but there was no real way of telling under all that hair.

“Hey, Sam. I just got jostled by Chewie,” Dean said with an excited smile.

“Okay, Han,” Sam replied, trying to contain his amusement at his brother’s child-like glee. “Why don’t we see if we can find some Doctor Who fans and get some more intell on these angels. Or even better, maybe we can spot our trickster.” They set off through the crowd.

They’d just spotted the Doctor Who booth on the far side of the room and were attempting to make their way toward it, when suddenly Sam stopped.

“Oh crap,” he said.

Dean stopped too. “What?”

Sam pointed to his right.

“Oh crap,” Dean agreed, looking to where Sam was pointing. There was a small table, piled high with books, the stands around it covered with devil’s traps, angel-banishing, anti-possession and various other supernatural symbols. In front of the table, with her back turned to the boys was a small mousey-haired woman. Upon hearing their voices, she turned around.

“Sam?! Dean?!” She squeaked in excitement, her eyes growing wide at the sight of them.

“Becky… hi,” said Sam, hoping his forced smile came across more sincerely than it felt.

“Ohmigod what are you doing here?” Becky asked, her voice a couple of octaves higher than Sam thought was strictly necessary.

“Hi Becky,” Dean said as nonchalantly as possible, but Becky didn’t even seem to have heard him as she approached Sam. 

Sam glanced sideways at his brother, a plea for help in his eyes, but Dean just looked back at him in amusement and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head that Sam understood as ‘you’re on your own for this one.’

“Are you here for the convention?” Becky asked, almost breathless from excitement as she came to a stop just a little bit too close to Sam. 

“Um… actually we’re on a case,” Sam replied, looking down at Becky, who was gazing back up at him lovingly.

“Oooooh, really? What are you hunting? A ghost? A vampire? Werewolf? Ghoul? Shapeshif–“

“We’re not sure yet,” Sam interrupted.

“Oh, ok. Well let me know if I can help.”

“Er yeah, sure. We will,” Sam replied. “Nice to see you again,” he added as he turned to walk away.   
“Yeah, nice to see you,” Dean agreed.

The two of them started towards the Doctor Who booth again.

“Hang on, Becky!” Dean called, turning back towards her. “What do you know about Weeping Angels?”

Sam gave him a look that said ‘What the hell?’

“Dude, she already knows what we do, if she knows about these things then we don’t have to find anyone to pre-text to.” Dean hissed out the corner of his mouth.

“Weeping Angels? Like from Doctor Who?” she asked. “Wait… they’re not real are they? Shit! Please tell me they’re not real!”

“They’re not real,” Dean said firmly, starting to already regret his decision to involve Becky.

“But we think something, maybe a trickster or pagan god, is manipulating reality, bringing a version of them to life,” Sam explained.

Becky didn’t look very comforted by this notion.

“So… there’s actual Weeping Angels walking around out there?” Becky asked, sounding surprisingly frightened and crossing her arms over chest, hugging herself.

“Yes… no… well, to be honest we don’t really know, but that’s the theory we’re working with at the moment,” Sam continued. Seeing how afraid Becky looked, he took pity and added, “It’s probably nothing though, don’t worry about it.”

Becky continued to look worried.

“So could you tell us about them?” Dean asked.

“They’re creatures from another world…” Becky immediately looked more cheerful. “…they move only when you see them. Lonely Assassins they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from. They’re as old as the Universe, or very nearly, and they’ve survived this long because they have the most perfect defence system ever evolved; they’re quantum locked. They don’t exist when they’re being observed, the moment they’re seen by any other living creature they freeze into rock. No choice, it’s a fact of their biology, in the sight of any living thing they literally turn to stone. And you can’t kill a stone. Of course a stone can’t kill you either, but then you turn your head away, then you blink and oh yes it can. That’s why they cover their eyes; they’re not weeping, they can’t risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their greatest curse: they can never be seen. Lonliest creatures in the Universe. And I’m sorr–“ Becky broke off from her (or the Doctor’s) monologue as Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows at each other. “Sorry, got a bit carried away there.”

“Uhuh,” Sam agreed.

“And in English?” Dean asked exasperatedly.

“Basically, in the show they’re aliens and they can only move when they’re not seen. So basically if you’re looking at them they’re just a statue, but they’re fast, faster than you could believe. Don’t turn your back, don’t look away and don’t blink, blink and you’re dead.”

“Well that sounds comforting,” said Dean, his voice laden with sarcasm. “And can you ease off of the quoting?”

“So how do we kill them?” Sam asked.

“You can’t,” Becky replied. “Well, at least it’s never be done on the show. One time they got sucked into a crack in the fabric of space-time…”

“Well, I’m sure we can rustle up one of those easy enough,” Dean interjected with a bitch-face.

“…one time when they were feeding off human life force, Rory and Amy created this massive paradox because Rory had just died downstairs and then they went up to the roof and Rory jumped off so he’d die before he died and the paradox…”

“Wait, what?” Sam asked, but Becky didn’t slow down.

“And the other time the Doctor tricked them into attacking the TARDIS and then he dematerialised it remotely so that the Angels were in a circle looking at each other and so were stuck being stone forever,” she finished with a satisfied smile.

“So basically, what you’re saying is you have no idea how to gank these things,” Dean stated, clearly annoyed. “Great, so what do we do if we come up against them before we find the trickster? If it even is a trickster.”

“Don’t blink,” Becky stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. I got that thanks,” Dean retorted.

“Okay thanks, Becky,” said Sam. “That helps.” Becky’s face lit up at the compliment. “See you around.”

“Wait!” said Becky. “Before you go, could I… um…do you mind if I…errr…is it okay if…could…could you take a picture with me?” She looked up at Sam nervously. “For… for my cosplay blog. It’d be so cool to have a picture of me with the real Sam Winchester. Oh, don’t worry I won’t say that you’re really you.”

Sam looked doubtful.

“Please?”

Dean snorted in an attempt to hold in a laugh.

“Okay sure, Becky,” Sam replied in a long-suffering tone.

“Great!” exclaimed Becky, manic smile back in place as she handed her phone to Dean and grabbed Sam by the arm, dragging him to stand in front of merchandise table.

“Say cheese!” Dean said, enjoying the moment far too much in Sam’s opinion. Sam tried his best to not look like he wanted to kill something as Becky wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging herself to him. As soon as he heard the shutter-snap of the camera-phone he extricated himself from Becky’s arms. She practically ran over to Dean and snatched the phone from his hands, eager to inspect the picture.

“Thank you, Sam!” she squealed.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Sam said, still feeling extremely uncomfortable. 

“Okay, Becky. See you around,” said Dean. “And let us know if you hear or see anything weird.”

“Will do,” Becky replied, only looking up from her phone long enough to flash Sam a smile, before becoming engrossed in uploading the picture again.  
Sam and Dean caught each other’s eye and then moved off into the crowd once more.

“Well, nice to see she hasn’t changed,” Dean said to Sam bemusedly.

“Yeah, but we’re still no closer to working out what the hell’s going on,” he replied irritably. 

“So what now? Stake-out and see if we can spot our Trickster?” asked Dean.

“I guess so. But it’s gonna be like looking for a needle in a hay stack with all these people in costumes. He can disguise himself as literally anyone, and they’re all disguised,” he gestured to the sea of cosplayers around them.

Dean raised his eye-brows at the ‘Winchester Logic’. “So what? Come back after hours, see if the Trickster’s hanging around? That’s what Gabriel used to do right? Hang around the scene of the crime?”

“Yeah, that’s probably our best bet. Let’s grab some food and come back later.”

**  
A few hours later found the boys sitting in the Impala in the parking lot across the street from the convention centre. At midnight they got out of the car, Dean taking his duffel-bag from the trunk, having loaded it with stakes made from various types of wood, as well as their usual hand-guns tucked in the waistbands of their jeans. They made their way towards the convention centre, keeping to the shadows between pools of light from street-lamps, keeping an eye out for security cameras. They skirted around the edge of the building to the staff entrance, where Sam crouched down with his lock-pick while Dean kept watch.

With many years of practise, Sam made short-work of the lock and soon the two of them were sliding through the door into a darkened hallway. Dean closed the door quietly behind him and they both switched on their flashlights, scanning the hallway ahead of them for possible threats. It was empty. They made their way to the door at the far end with a sign that read ‘Exhibition Centre: Main Floor’. The door was unlocked. Sam pushed it open gingerly as Dean swiftly moved through, flashlight and colt raised, scanning left and then right. Again, there was nothing but darkness. Sam joined him and they started making their way silently through the assorted stalls and tables, eyes and ears straining for any sign of the Trickster. Being windowless, the convention hall was pitch black outside the two pools from their flashlights.

Having made a full circumnavigation of the room to no avail, the boys started to work their way up and down the centre aisles, each starting from either end of the room in the hopes of trapping anything hostile between them. Dean was halfway up his third aisle when his flashlight began to flicker.

“Shit,” he whispered as it gave out completely, plunging him into darkness.

He tapped it hard against the palm of his hand a few times and it flickered back to life. Once the beam was steady, he directed it along the aisle ahead of him. And almost dropped it in shock.  
At the far end of the aisle was a winged statue.

Its arms were by its side, palms open, and its sightless, stone eyes seemed to be staring directly at Dean. Making a conscious effort not to blink, he slowly advanced towards it for closer inspection. At that moment, his flashlight flicked off and on again. The angel was now mere feet from him.

“Woah!” exclaimed Dean, taking an involuntary step backward, away from the creature. He eyed the stone figure before him, its mouth open in a snarl of fury, clawed fingers reaching out toward him. 

“Sam!” he called. “I’ve got one! Third aisle from the left!”

He heard his brother’s footsteps running towards him. Dean slowly backed away from the creature, flashlight levelled at it. Damn. Not blinking is harder than I thought. His eyes were starting to burn with the effort. The flashlight gave out completely.

**  
Sam ran along the ends of the aisles and skidded round the corner of the third one from the end, flashlight held above his head.

“DEAN!” he shouted, running toward his brother. “Hold on!” Sam could see the front of Dean’s shirt held in a vice-like grip by the statue; its other clawed hand was raised above its head, poised to strike. 

“Nice timing, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice on edge. “My flashlight just died.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Sam replied tersely.

“Can you look at it for sec? I really need to blink,” Dean asked, his voice not entirely masking his desperation.

“I’ve got eyes on it,” said Sam, fixing his gaze on the angel.

“Woah, okay. Thanks,” said Dean with relief. “I can’t pull myself free, but there’s a knife in my left boot, see if you can get it. I’ll keep eyes on the statue.”

Sam bent down and wiggled the small blade free from Dean’s ankle. As he straightened up, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He turned his head, looking back the way he’d just come, and saw another Weeping Angel, frozen in place at the end of the aisle, trapping them between the two.

“Shit,” Sam swore under his breath, turning to face the new threat, leaving him back-to-back with his brother.

“What?” asked Dean, his eyes still fixed on the monstrous face in front of him, just inches away.

“There’s another one,” Sam replied. “Between us and the door.”

“Great,” hissed Dean between gritted teeth. “You keep eyes on that one and pass me the knife.”  
Sam stared at the Weeping Angel ahead of him and reached behind him with knife, flipping it round so that Dean could take it hilt-first. He felt air-movement around his hand as Dean’s blindly searched for the knife-hilt, then a sharp scratch as Dean grabbed it a bit too hard. Sam couldn’t help but blink.

Sam inhaled sharply at the sight of the Angel’s snarling face now less than two feet away from his own. The angel’s hand was mere inches away from grasping his neck.

“Jeez! Becky wasn’t lying when she said they moved fast!” Sam exclaimed.

“Has it got you too?” Dean asked anxiously.

“Not quite, but I definitely can’t afford to blink again,” replied Sam, instinctively shifting his weight backwards slightly, pushing his back up against Dean’s. He heard the sound of fabric tearing as Dean cut himself free of the angel’s unyielding fist.

“Okay, how are we gonna get out of this?” Sam heard his brother ask.

“Um, I can’t go anywhere, until you move,” he replied.

Dean tried to slide to his right, but his jacket got caught on the statue’s still-outstretched fist. Crap, thought Dean as he shifted his weight back into place, freeing his jacket. He stretched out his left arm, but as he expected, the booth was too close for him to escape that way. Double-crap.

“I’m gonna have to slide down,” he informed Sam. “Stay still.”

Dean started to bend his knees, walking his feet out away from him slightly so that he could slide slowly down Sam’s back. Realising that the Angel’s fist wasn’t going to move, Dean turned his head to the side as much as he could without taking his eyes off the statue. He felt rough stone knuckles grazing up his cheek and let out a hiss as he continued to slide himself toward the floor. As soon as he could touch the floor with his hands, Dean turned so that he was looking up at the Angel, supporting himself on his hands and feet. He crab-walked backwards away from the Angel, keeping his gaze fixed on it. He could feel a small trickle of blood running down his forehead toward his eye and knew he wouldn’t be able to help but blink if any dripped in it.

“Okay, Sam. I’m out,” he said, straightening up.

Sam immediately took a step backwards and then one to his left, escaping the Angels’ grasps. He turned and took another couple of steps back, so that both Angels were now in his field of vision.  
Dean gratefully wiped his brow with his sleeve.

“Okay,” said Sam. “We need to make our way back to the door. You keep your eyes on these two and walk backwards, I’ll go forwards in case any more appear.”

“Okay,” Dean replied, taking up position back-to-back with Sam again. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned on the camera’s flash to give him a source of light.

Slowly they made their way toward the exit, Dean staring back at the two Angels, which were still frozen in place, Sam scanning left and right as far up the aisle as he could see. When they’d nearly reached the end, Dean suddenly announced.

“I need to blink. Switch!”

The two of them carefully rotated their positions as far as they could before Dean lost eye-contact with the Angels.

“Three, two, one…NOW.”

Sam snapped his head around to face the pair of statues, to see they were no longer in the position they’d left them in, but were looking directly down the aisle at Sam and Dean.  
Sam felt Dean start to move again and started to walk backwards, all his concentration focused on not blinking.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached the end of the aisle.

“Hold on,” said Sam. He felt Dean stop and continued, “As soon as I lose sight of them round the corner, they’re gonna be able to get us.”

“Ah shit,” said Dean, scanning the opposite wall for the door they’d come through. He located it and glanced back down the aisle once, before continuing to scan to either side on the look-out for any more of these freaky-ass statues. “The door’s only about thirty feet away and I can’t see any more of them. Do you think we can make a break for it?”

“I don’t think we really have another option,” Sam replied. “You go, I’ll follow.”

Sam felt Dean move off at a run, as he continued to watch the pair of Angels staring at him. It was getting harder and harder not to blink, so the second he heard the door open behind him, he turned and bolted for it.

As soon as he was through, Dean slammed it shut behind him and turned the lock. A split-second later something collided hard with the other side of the door. A second crash followed the first.   
After quickly checking over their shoulders for more Angels, Sam and Dean started to back away from the door, which was receiving a continuous pounding, until they reached the building’s exit.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, that went well,” Dean intoned with heavy sarcasm as he and Sam climbed into the Impala. 

“It could’ve gone worse,” Sam replied, his breathing still heavy from sprinting across the dark parking lot.

“Yeah, who knew blinking could be so deadly?” Dean said as he turned the ignition and began to drive back to their motel.

“Did you see anything at all that looked Tricksterish?” Sam asked. “’Cause I’m starting to doubt that’s what’s behind this.”

“I was a little busy being molested by a freakin’ statue, so no I didn’t notice anything. You?”

“No…” Sam broke off, staring out the passenger window deep in thought. “There’s something not quite right about the M.O. either – where’s the just-deserts in all this? What did the fans ever do to anyone? Whatever it is seems to be out to scare the crap out of people and then kidnap, and probably kill, them.”

“So we’re back to square one then?” Dean asked as he pulled up outside their motel room door.

“Maybe… maybe not,” Sam replied absently.

At times like this Dean swore he could see the cogs turning in his brother’s head.

“I want to check the lore again. Maybe it’s not about the Angels themselves, maybe it’s a creature that feeds on fear or something.”

“Could be,” Dean replied. “We’ve seen that kind of thing before.”

They got out of the car and headed into their room. Sam made a bee-line straight for his laptop, which was still sitting on the table, while Dean headed into the bathroom to clean the blood from his face.

After rinsing the dried blood away, Dean leaned forward to the mirror, hands either side of the sink, to inspect the graze. It was pretty shallow and Dean was surprised it had bled as much as it did. He picked up a towel to dry off when he heard his brother exclaim from the other room.

“Son of a bitch!”

“What?” Dean asked, emerging through the bathroom door, towel still in hand.

“We’re fucking morons, that’s what!” Sam replied. “It was staring us right in the face the whole time!”

“What was?”

In response, Sam swivelled the laptop round so Dean could see what was on the screen.

“That’s just the picture of you and Becky from today,” Dean said confusedly. “Wha– oh. Son of a bitch! How the hell did we miss that?” he asked incredulously.

“I know right? There was a freakin’ Tulpa symbol on Becky’s posters that whole time. How did neither of us see it?”

“Well…” Dean started with a smirk. “You were rather distracted by lover-girl.”

“Shut up. But it makes sense right? A Tulpa happens to be in town and this convention provides it with hundreds if not thousands of fans all believing in the same thing. The only question is out of all the aliens, fake-vampires and other monsters, why these Weeping Angels?”

“I think I might know, hang on…” Dean replied, searching through his pockets before locating a balled-up piece of paper. He straightened it out and handed it to Sam.

“Screening of ‘Blink!’ followed by Q&A panel with Carey Mulligan,” Sam read from the flyer. He spent a moment studying the accompanying picture of a Weeping Angel and the actress – she was pretty, no doubt Dean would try and charm her if they made it to the panel – before looking at up at his brother. He was surprised to find Dean looking confident, even cheerful. 

“What?” Sam asked.

“Now we know what we’re dealing with, we can gank it,” replied Dean assuredly.

“Yeah, and how are gonna do that? Last time we came up against one of these we had to change the lore so that it could be killed by a regular gun. How the hell are we gonna get a thousand super-fans to totally disregard canon, which says they can’t be killed?”

“Um…” Dean’s eyes shifted back and forth restlessly, as if searching for an answer to pluck out of the air around him. “We’ll figure that out.”

“Right,” said Sam sarcastically. “You do that. So,” his tone lightened. “Shall we go check out this panel? Maybe seeing the episode will give us a clue as to where to look next.”

“Yeah ok,” replied Dean. “It might help, I guess. Of course, Carey Mulligan’s cuteness has absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to go?” He added, eyebrows raised suggestively.

The only response Dean got was a curt “Let’s go.”

**

Sam and Dean used their fake badges once again to make their way into the packed room just as the screening was starting. All the seats where taken, so they leant against the back wall just as the lights started to dim and the image of a wrought-iron gate at night appeared on the screen. The brothers settled in to watch the episode, Sam taking a small notebook out of his pocket to jot down anything that might be helpful as the shot panned up to reveal Carey Mulligan’s character climbing the gate and approaching a haunted-looking house. 

“Ooooh creepy!” Dean whispered mockingly.

A few seconds pass.

“What the hell?” Dean whispered as the character peeled back the wall-paper, revealing the words Beware the weeping angel. Oh and duck! No really, duck! Sally Sparrow, duck now. 

“What?!” Dean exclaimed in a whisper as Sally duly ducked just in time.

“Dude. Are you gonna do that the whole time?” Sam asked exasperatedly.

The screen now showed an image of a Weeping Angel.

“Well, that’s definitely what we saw last night,” Sam says. “At least we know we’re on the right track.”

As the show’s titles started to play the entire audience started singing along.

“Jeez, really?! Exclaimed Dean. “There aren’t even any words!”

“Huh, doesn’t seem to bother them,” Sam observed.

The episode continued and Sam and Dean found themselves becoming more and more engrossed, Dean occasionally nudging Sam with his elbow to make a quip or comment, Sam taking notes on every scrap of info about the Angels he could. When the credits started to role, the audience applauded.

“Huh, that was actually pretty good tv,” Sam said. “I was not expecting that.”

“Dude, are you kidding?! It was freakin’ awesome!” exclaimed Dean. “I’ve been missing out, man. Hey, can you get Netflix on your computer?” he added. “I need to catch-up.”

“Really?” asked Sam, with a laugh. “And when are you gonna find time to watch it what with research and driving all day when you’re not actually on a hunt?”

“I’ll… I’ll find time,” Dean replied.

At that moment a guy walked on stage to introduce the star of the episode and the audience erupted into cheers. 

Sam turned his attention back to his notebook to see if he could find anything useful while Dean   
watched the proceedings.

After about twenty minutes Sam felt a sharp elbow in his ribs and looked up from the notes he’d been combing through.

“What?” he asked Dean.

Dean merely nodded at the stage in response. Sam turned his attention to the stage where the actress was stood with a microphone, taking questions from the audience.

“That is a great question,” she said. “What would I do if I came up against a Weeping Angel in real life? Well the obvious one is mirrored sunglasses so you don’t have to worry about blinking, the Angel would be looking at its own reflection the whole time. Seriously though, have you guys tried not blinking? It’s hard.”

There was a mixture of laughter and cheers from the audience.

“But I guess that’s only a temporary fix,” the actress continued. “I have thought about this before, if they’re stone when you see them, surely you could just take a sledgehammer or wrecking-ball or something to them and they’d shatter?”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd erupted into fresh cheers. Sam and Dean looked at each other, for a second then Dean’s face broke into a grin.

“Did we just get our way to gank them?” Sam asked.

“I think we did, Sammy,” Dean replied. “Let’s hope all these nerds put that answer online and everyone sees it. Who ever thought Twitter would save lives?”

Sam snorted in amusement. “Yeah,” he agreed.

**

On the way out of the panel, Sam and Dean could hear fans excitedly discussing the episode, everything Carey Mulligan had said, and some of them discussing the potential of smashing a Weeping Angel to death.

“Well the only question now is why didn’t the Doctor try that before?” Sam heard one fan in a TARDIS dress ask her friend, who had a ridiculously long stripy scarf. “I mean the Doctor had that sledgehammer on the TARDIS for ages – y’know the one Donna used on the Sontarans – and we’d seen it before that, right? Was it Tooth and Claw that he used it to bash the console? I think it was.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, thinking to himself how crazily obsessed these fans must be to know such tiny details. Although he found he kinda got it: it must be nice to have something you love so much, something to escape from reality into on occasion.

Dean was also listening to snippets of conversation, trying to gauge whether the fans had taken Carey’s suggestion on board.

“It’s a nice idea, them being stone and all, but remember Time of Angels? Father Octavian used enough explosive to bring down a cliff face and the Angels were unscathed. I doubt that a wrecking-ball would do much good when 20 tons of dynamite won’t.”

Dean turned to his brother. “Uh Sam, we might have a problem. Turns out some of the fans are already finding problems with Carey’s suggestion,” he said.

“Great,” Sam replied with heavy sarcasm. “I guess, we’ll just have to hope that most of them accept it? It’s not like we need it to be true to the show, just as long as enough people believe it to affect the Tulpa, right?”

“I guess.”

“Let’s go back to the motel, I’ll go online and see if I can try and help spread it around a bit.”

**

A few hours later, back at the motel, Sam finally closed his laptop and sat back in his chair, stretching. Dean was sat on his bed, talking on the phone.

“Great, thanks. Been a pleasure doing business with you,” Dean said before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Sam asked. He hadn’t been paying attention to Dean’s conversation as he did his best to spread Carey Mulligan’s idea around every Doctor Who site he could find.

“That,” Dean replied, “was Mr Tom Breaker of Breaker’s Demolitions, from whom I have just procured us a wrecking-ball and crane for the night,” he finished with a satisfied smirk.

“Seriously?” asked Sam, impressed.

“Yep, so I say we go pick it up, drive it to the convention centre parking lot and draw the Angels out. Then it’s wrecking-time!”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Sam said. “How are we gonna draw them out?”

“Um… go in, piss them off, run and hope they chase us?” Dean suggested. “Got a better idea?” he added on seeing Sam’s bitch face.

Sam just sighed in response. 

**

Sam stood, leaning against the Impala in the dark parking lot, and watched as his brother rolled up in a caterpillar-tracked crane, wrecking ball secured to the roof of the driver’s cab and the word ‘Destroyer’ emblazoned on the side. Dean parked it in the centre of the parking lot, well away from his precious Impala. He climbed out and standing on the metal foot-plate, began to undo the fastenings securing the heavy ball to the roof.

“Do you even know how to operate one of those?” Sam called across to his brother.

“Technically no, but how hard can it be?” Dean called back.

“Yeah, right,” Sam muttered to himself, having plenty of experience with Dean’s figure-it-out-as-you-go approach.

Dean climbed back into the driver’s cab and experimentally wiggled a joystick. Nothing happened. He tried the one next to it and the whole arm of the crane lurched sharply to the side, sending the attached ball swinging in a wide arc out in front of him. Dean had a moment of panic as the ball started to swing back towards him, but it circled past the windscreen with a couple of feet to spare and Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“See, piece of cake!” Dean grinned as he hopped down out of the driver’s seat and walked across the parking lot to join his brother.

“Yeah alright, Miley,” Sam smirked, handing Dean one of the sledgehammers he’d extricated from the Impala’s trunk. “Let’s get this over with.”

The two of them headed back towards the exhibition centre, flash lights raised and scanning to either side, looking for any signs of the Weeping Angels. They reached the door they’d entered through last night, but Sam put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, “Wait.”

“What?” Dean asked. “Do you see one?”

“No, but if we both go in, there’s no guarantee, if we even make it out, that we’ll get back to the Destroyer in time. You should wait in it and I’ll try and bring them out to you.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” Dean replied in a sharp tone.

“Have you got a better idea?” asked Sam, half-hoping that Dean did.

Dean opened his mouth, but finding that he didn’t have a better idea to suggest, closed it again unhappily. “Be careful,” he said instead.

“You too,” replied Sam, as he turned and pushed the ominously-unlocked door open.

Dean watched his brother disappear into the darkened corridor, then turned and began heading back to the Destroyer, with a strong feeling that this was a bad idea.

**

This was the part of hunting that Sam hated most. No matter how many times he found himself walking into a dark building or forest, he was always on edge, every tiny sound making him jump and his imagination providing myriad unknown terrors lurking in the dark, despite the knowledge that if they were hunting a vampire it was extremely unlikely that some brains-hungry zombie was about to leap out of the shadows and attack him. It’s fear of the unknown, Sam mused to himself. It’s far easier to fight a tangible threat and let well-trained instinct take over than be constantly on edge, waiting for something to happen.

Sam reached the end of the corridor and cautiously pushed open the door to the main exhibition hall. He stepped through, scanning left and right with the flashlight in one hand, sledgehammer raised in the other, but he couldn’t see anything that shouldn’t be there. Taking a deep breath, he started moving off along the ends of the aisles, looking carefully down each one he passed, as well as ahead and back over his shoulder, but there was still no sign of any Angels. 

Eventually he reached the end wall and was debating whether or not he should head further out into the hall in his search, but he was reluctant to leave sight of the door as there was no guarantee he’d be able to outrun the Angels and lead them back to Dean and the destroyer from further inside. He turned back to look the way he’d come and froze. “Shit,” he whispered.

At least twenty Weeping Angels had appeared and were scattered along the end aisle, frozen in place between him and his only way out. Fuck, Sam thought to himself as he realised that he had no choice but to make his way back to the door through the host of killer statues. There was no way he’d be able to keep all of them in his sights at once and he knew his chances were slim at best, but there was no other choice. He would have to rely on speed and hope for the best.

The nearest Angel was about ten feet away, face frozen in an angry scream and claws reached out toward him. As he slowly shuffled towards it, the thought briefly occurred to him that maybe he could somehow use the video camera on his phone to help keep them statue-ified, but then he remembered what he’d read online about “the image of an angel becomes itself an angel”. The last thing he needed was more of these things. Sam stopped just out of reach of the first Angel and peered through the gloom ahead, plotting the quickest route back to the door, then, flashlight held high, he began to run.

**

Dean sat in the driver’s seat of the Destroyer, fingers ready on the joystick, and staring intently at the door, waiting for Sam to emerge. Every second felt like an eternity as he waited. He hated not knowing what was happening inside, for all he knew his brother could already be dead, and it was taking every ounce of his willpower to not run inside guns-blazing to go to Sam’s aid. But as much as he hated it, he knew he had to stick to the plan.

**

Flashlight held high, Sam began to run. He dodged and ducked, sidestepping an outstretched arm, then he felt sharp claws rake across his shoulder and he was nearly pulled off his feet as a fist closed around his jacket. Instead he shrugged it off and threw himself to the floor, feeling a rush of air as another clawed hand swiped at where his head had been milliseconds before. The second he hit the ground he rolled onto his back, looking up to see the Angels had begun to close ranks, forming a circle of statues around him. Lying on his back, with the flashlight pointed straight up, Sam could just about see the front row of encircling Angels in the small circle of light, preventing them from getting any closer. But he had no idea what was happening in the darkness beyond. He lay there, feeling blood soak into his shirt from the scratches on his shoulder and breathing heavily as he listened to sinister rustles and eerie screeches in the darkness beyond. For all he knew, there could be a hundred of them out there now.

As long as Sam stayed where he was, they couldn’t get to him, but he couldn’t stay there forever, and the urge to blink was becoming overwhelming. Fighting to keep his eyes open, Sam realised that if he could just make it to the wall, he could slide sideways along it without having to worry about Angels snatching him from behind. He would effectively be reducing the need to see 360° to 180°. If only he could get there. With nothing else for it, Sam threw his head back and to the right to see what lay between him and the wall, but even before he could return his gaze to the ceiling and the evil statues towering above him, he felt several sets of claws sink into his flesh or fasten tight grips around his limbs and clothes and he couldn’t help but let out a yell of pain. 

With his gaze firmly fixed upward again to encompass as many Angels as he could, Sam tried to slow his breathing as he took stock of the situation, trying to ignore the malicious razor-toothed grins that were leering down at him from now mere inches away. There was one set of claws embedded in his lower leg, pinning it to the ground; another pinning down his opposite hip bone; the hand holding the sledgehammer was being pinned to the floor, held by the wrist in a vice-like grip; a stone fist was bunched in his shirt, right over his heart; another just above the hem.

Sam knew that in order to shuffle the couple of feet to the wall behind him and to the right, the first thing he was going to have to do was free his wrist, but it wasn’t going to be easy. To start with, he transferred the torch to his mouth, holding it between his teeth so at least he’d have his left hand free. He grasped the stone fingers, trying to pry them away from his wrist, but they wouldn’t budge. He took the sledgehammer out of his trapped hand and attempted to slide it out of the Angel’s grip, but there was no way it was going to fit.

So he had two choices, either wrench his hand out and probably dislocate and crush several bones in the process, or try and smash the Angel’s hand with the hammer and probably his own with it. Great, Sam thought sarcastically to himself. I’m gonna really enjoy watching these sons-of-bitches get smashed to pieces if I make it out of here.  
Deciding that he’d probably do less damage with the hammer, Sam raised it as high as he could between the various stone arms and brought it down hard against the Angel’s hand. He felt it crack slightly, but also a jolt of pain shoot through his own wrist and hand. Gritting his teeth, Sam raised the sledgehammer and brought it down again. This time the stone hand shattered, falling away in pieces, but that meant that the hammer struck his own with almost full force and he bit down hard on the flashlight in his mouth to hold back a cry. Sam wiggled his fingers experimentally and although it hurt to move them, he still could, so at least nothing could be badly broken.

He lay the sledgehammer down beside him, and now with both hands free turned his attention to freeing his clothing. It was easy enough to rip his shirt leaving the two stone fists just holding strips of plaid, but there was no way he was going to be able to rip his thick jeans by hand, and that still left the problem of the stone claws embedded in his skin.  
With nothing else for it, Sam took hold of the sledgehammer again and started to slide himself slowly backward along the floor, keeping his gaze on the Weeping Angels and hissing in pain as their claws dragged through the flesh of his hip and leg. He shifted slightly to the side and nearly screamed as the claws scraped over his hip bone, but then he was free of them. He paused a moment, taking several deep breaths to steady himself, then with one final push, he skidded backwards, ripping the claws from his right ankle where they snagged in his boot, tearing it from his foot. He felt his shoulder against the rough stone of another Angel’s foot, but he could see the rest of it looming above him and so carefully manoeuvred himself between it and the one next to it, until he felt the top of his head make contact with the wall. He removed the flashlight from his mouth and holding the beam steady in front of him, clambered to his feet, sliding his back up against the wall.

He stood there panting for a moment, carefully closing and opening one eye and then the other to relieve himself of the urge to blink. Then ignoring the impulse to look toward the door, he began sliding himself sideways along the wall, keeping the flashlight pointed back at the circle of Angels, which he now saw was three rows deep. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally felt the opening of the doorway behind him. Positioning himself right at the edge of it, he quickly flicked his head to look down the hallway and back again at the host of Angels he’d just escaped. Even in the couple of seconds it had taken him to check his way out was clear, the Angels had all straightened up and were facing him, some already frozen in their first steps towards him. 

Sam counted in his head, psyching himself up, 1, 2, 3… then turned and sprinted for the parking lot.

**

Dean was almost on the point of abandoning the plan and going in after his brother, when he saw Sam’s large form come bursting out of the door. He sprinted towards Dean, limping slightly and missing one shoe. As he passed under a streetlight Dean could see his shirt was ripped and he was covered in blood. Before he could process this, a horde of Weeping Angels poured out of the door. Well, if that’s what you could call it. The moment Dean caught sight of them they were already turned to stone mid-step, like some horrible parody of statues of athletes. 

“Close your eyes!” Dean heard his brother yell. “We need to get them closer!” 

Although it went against every instinct, Dean obliged and shut his eyes tight, listening hard for Sam to give the okay. 

“Now, Dean!” he heard Sam yell from much closer this time and he snapped his eyes open to see about two dozen statues surrounding his brother right in front of him on the asphalt. 

“Get down!” Dean called through the open window as he yanked the joystick to the side, sending the wrecking ball sailing through the air. Sam dropped to the ground, shielding his head with his forearms as the massive ball collided with two Angels, smashing them to smithereens. 

“It’s working!” Dean crowed as he jerked the joystick to the other side, sending the ball spinning back. It took out three more and then another two as it swung back from the top of its arc. 

Dean continued to send the ball flying back and forth on its chain, stone limbs and smaller shards flying in every direction. Under Dean’s gaze, the Angels were powerless to defend themselves and in a matter of minutes there was nothing left of them but piles of rubble and clouds of stone-dust swirling through the orange-lit air. 

“We did it!” Dean crowed as he switched off the destroyer’s ignition and hopped down from the cab. “You okay, Sammy?”

“Uhuh,” Sam groaned in reply, heaving himself up into a sitting position. He was feeling pretty beat up (not helped by the various stone limbs that had just come flying at him), but he’d live. He’d survived far worse after all.

“You ok to drive?” Dean asked, as he took Sam’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “I should probably take the Destroyer back.”

“I guess so, but we should probably destroy the Tulpa symbol before we go, just to be safe.”

“Right. Do you think it’s safe to go back in?”

“I dunno, could be more of them. We’re probably best just torching the place from out here.”   
Dean grinned.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Oh nothing,” Dean replied mischievously as they headed back toward the Impala. “It’s just, I’ve always wanted a chance to use one of these.”  
He popped the Impala’s trunk, lifted the false bottom, propping it up on a sawn-off and lovingly removed the grenade launcher that had been sitting in it for as long as he could remember.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Sam laughed, picking up his 9mm. “Shall we?”

Dean closed the trunk and the two of them moved off back toward the building, circling round to the back where there were windows and also the advantage of being hidden from the adjacent street by a line of trees.

Sam glanced at his watch, it was now nearly 2am. “Okay, at this time of night hopefully it’ll take a little longer for someone to make a 911 call, but as soon as we know the building’s going up we should get out of here pronto.”

“Right,” agreed Dean, hefting the grenade launcher onto his shoulder.

Sam raised his gun and put two shots through the window, cracking the glass. After clicking the safety on, he swiftly used the butt to shatter it, giving Dean a clear line of sight into the exhibition hall, then moved back out of the way.

Dean pulled the trigger and the recoil nearly sent him staggering backwards. The boys waited with bated breath for a few seconds, then there was a deafening boom and a blast of heat came at them through the window. The grenade must’ve have hit something really flammable, as they could hear the roar and see the flickering orange of flames within.

“Right, that should do it,” said Sam, just as another explosion shook the ground around them.

“Yeah, we should probably get the hell out of dodge before the cops show up,” Dean replied, still grinning as the two of them jogged back towards the Impala.

**

The next morning found Sam and Dean sitting in a road-side diner on their way back to the bunker, drinking coffee. They were just about to pay the cheque when Sam’s phone rang.

He looked at the caller ID and saw a number he didn’t recognise. He picked up and said “Hello?”

“SAM WINCHESTER I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!” A female voice screeched on the other end of the line. “YOU AND YOUR BROTHER BLEW UP THE CONVENTION CENTRE!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?!!”

“Uh, Becky?” Sam asked tentatively.

“YES IT’S BECKY, WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE?!” 

“Right, sorry about ruining the convention and everything, but we didn’t really have a choice.”

“DAMN STRAIGHT YOU SHOULD BE SORRY!!! I HAD A MEET AND GREET WITH MARK SHEPPARD SCHEDULED FOR TODAY!!!!”

“Who?”

“MARK! SHEPPARD!!! HE’S LIKE THE KING OF SCI-FI!!!! HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW WHO HE IS?! DOCTOR WHO, FIREFLY, BATTLESTAR GALACTICA…”

“I’m sorry, Becky,” Sam said again, trying to sound sincere. He did feel a little bad for ruining everyone’s fun, but he thought Becky’s over-reaction was bordering on hilarious.

“WELL SORRY DOESN’T CUT IT! I’M NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN SAM WINCHESTER. GOODBYE!”

And with that she hung up.

Sam pocketed the phone and turned back to Dean, who was eyeing him curiously. “Who was that?”

“Becky,” Sam replied. “She’s not very happy with us for blowing up the convention centre, but on the plus side, she said she’s never speaking me to again.”

“Well what do y’know,” Dean replied also smirking. “I guess miracles really do happen.”


End file.
